Sherlock Tyler
by FollowingShadows
Summary: In his memory palace, in a little drawer, sits a blue fob watch. It holds memories of another universe, of parents he can't remember. He never opens it. One day he meets a man with a bow tie who opens it for him. - T cause I'm majorly paranoid
1. Chapter 1

**New story! Wrote this awhile back, been debating whether or not to post it. This is just a test to see if people like it. If they do, I'll continue it. If not, I'll delete. **

**Disclaimer: I own! I my dreams. Steve Moffat owns both.**

"Bye Sweetie!" Rose called out. "We should be back soon!"

"Mother, I'm 10, not 5."

"I know, Sherly. Especially if we measure it by that brain of yours. You definitely take after your father."

"Did I hear someone talking about me?" John Tyler asked, sticking his head in.

"Nope, it was just your big ego."

"Oi! You ready to go yet? Torchwood'll be pissed if we miss our flight. Agan."

"Right. Remember what I told you..." she said facing Sherlock. He rolled his eyes.

"No using the weapons, no time jumps, and no aliens. Got it."

Rose leaned down and kissed his cheek. "See you in a few days."

John mussed his hair. "Don't go blowing up the universe."

"It was one time!" Sherlock said, pouting. John laughed, closing the door behind him.

For the last time.

* * *

It wasn't the police who came to his door later. Why would it be? Torchwood was above the police, above the military, even beyond the prime minister's clearance.

Instead it was Abbey Delangio, head of Torchwood's "human" resources. Sherlock had only ever seen her outside of Torchwood once before. When she came to tell his mom about the death of Peter and Jacqueline Tyler. Tears were running down his face before he opened the door.

Seeing them, Abbey reached a hand out to comfort him, but he pushed her away. Wiping away his tears, he spoke.

"How?"

"Explosion. Took every last Cyberman with them."

"When?"

"Two days ago."

The tears he had just wiped away came flowing down again, harder than before as every feeling Sherlock had ever felt poured out. Abbey stood next to him awkwardly, not sure how to comfort him. Sherlock to in a shuddery breath.

"Where am I going to go now?"

"Mrs. Tyler's family is gone, and Mr. Tyler's is... well, you know. Torchwood's looking at other options."

"You mean they're going to stick me in a foster home?" Sherlock asked, clearly annoyed. "Am I even allowed to live with other... humans?"

"Officially, as you are only 1/4 extraterrestrial, you are considered human enough to be put in a full human society."

Sherlock fixed her with an icy glare. "There is no possible way I will ever go anywhere else. I refuse to go to a foster home."

"Unfortunately, you have little choice in the matter. Hopefully, a more suitable situation can be formed soon." Abbey replied, assuming her full Torchwood voice.

Sherlock glanced at her, fully prepared to fight back, but realized it was useless. He was leaving, but not the house. The universe.

"Then allow me to gather my things, and I'll meet you here soon." Sherlock said in what he thought was a resigned and sad voice. Abbey raised her eyebrows at his simple surrender.

"Collect what you need immediately, the rest can be picked up later. You have..." She glanced at her watch. "Three minutes."

Sherlock ran up the stairs, not to his room but to his parents'. Putting in the code on the hidden entry pad, he walked into the armory and walked over immediately to one thing. The dimension cannon. Seeing it was locked in an extra case, Sherlock groaned in frustration. Of course they put in new security, after what happened last time. He put up a mental barrier to prevent all the memories threatening to flow through, and focused his attention to the pad.

It was set up like a normal pin code entry, but Sherlock knew one mistake might lead to god knows what trapping him. He searched through his mind, looking for what might possibly be the code. Glancing at the pad, he noticed a slight sheen of oil on a few specific numbers. 2, 3, 5, 6, and 9. Sherlock facepalmed. Of course! 2239653! His mom had used it alot, always saying she would tell him the story behind it one day. Something about a wolf. Now she never would.

It hit Sherlock. He was never going to see his parents again. Hell, if he went through with this, he would never see this world again. He would never be able to return. He couldn't even go to their funeral... Still. He had to. He couldn't stay here, and he refused to live with someone who would never know him.

Before his resolve could crack, Sherlock put in the code, grabbed the cannon, and powered it up. Aiming at the wall, he fired. A portal opened, almost like a tear in fabric, shaking the house. He knew Abbey was going to come up and investigate. Now or never.

A small smile graced his face as he stepped through.

"Allons-y."

* * *

Mycroft walked home, his mind wandering, noticing things no other person would. As he walked past an alley, a small but bright flash of light caught his attention. He walked in, ignoring the common sense that it was most likely some creep with a torch. How many torches had a golden bulb?

"Hello?" he called out. He heard a shuddering reply. reaching into his school bag, he pulled out a small light, shining it in front of him. He stopped. In front of him was a pale boy with thick black curls and icy blue eyes, who scowled back at him.

"What do you want?" the boy asked sharply. Mycroft detected a slight wavering in his voice, definitely pointing to recent loss. A runway, then, not wanting to face foster care. As Mycroft looked the boy up and down, he saw something else. A spark of intelligence, like nothing he had ever seen before. He held out his hand, pulling the boy up.

"Mycroft Holmes. And you?"

"Sherlock." Mycroft noted the fact that he didn't give a last name.

"Are you a runaway?" he asked, straight to the point.

"I don't know... I can't remember." Sherlock replied, looking confused.

"How can you not remember? Were you in an accident? No, definitely not, there's no sign of injury, which you certainly would have gained had you been in an accident so severe that it caused amnesia."

"It wasn't an accident, I just... can't remember anything that happened before this alleyway. Since I am forming new memories, this is certainly retrograde amnesia."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "How old are you, can you remember?"

Sherlock nodded. "Ten."

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful. "Since I assume you have no place to stay, you can live with me for the time being."

"Won't your parents mind?" Sherlock said, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. That made no sense, he wasn't sad.

"Mummy shouldn't mind, I can convince her to do practically anything."

"And your father?"

"He's gone."

Sherlock nodded, not prying. "Which way?"

"Left."

Sherlock walked out of the alley, turning left.

Mycroft followed him. Marvelous. He had another puzzle to solve.

* * *

**So, what did people think? Yes, no, maybe so? Review plz, I welcome criticism.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, Sup. This is not really a chapter, it was actually supposed to part of the previous chapter, but I forgot to tack it on, then forgot about the story in general... yeah. That's also why its been several months. Sorry. Anyway, It's here now! :D**

**Disclaimer: Apparently three posters, three sonic screwdrivers, a calender, a bag, and seven t-shirts just makes you obsessed, not an owner. Ah well.**

* * *

The Doctor grabbed at the railing as his Tardis shook violently.

"Woah! What was that!?" he said, running over to the monitor. His eyes widened when he saw the screen. "How the hell did that get there? A tear in the universe? That shouldn't even be possible. Damn, probably some pompous Time Agent thinking he can break whatever universal walls he feels like." The Doctor grumbled to himself, honing in on the coordinates of the tear before parking the TARDIS next to it. Pushing open the doors, he saw that he was in a dingy alleyway. Grabbing an old newspaper he noted he was in London, July 1990. Before going even 4 steps from the Tardis, he felt the wrongness of the tear. Running ino the alley, he pulled out his screwdriver and started waving it around. He looked at the readings.

"Oh god, well this is just brilliant!" The Doctor exclaimed, exasperated. "A being from another dimension, randomly shooting a dimension cannon while destroying the fabric of the universe. Luckily it's small and easy to fix. The sonic should do it."

With a quick buzz from his tool, the Doctor fixed the damage and turned, walking back to the Tardis. As he grabbed the doors, he paused.

"Still, have to wonder what they were doing... best to keep an eye on the place."

The Doctor saved the coordinates in the Tardis's memory, making sure there was a constant connection to it in case anything ever popped up. With a tug of a lever, the blue box disappeared from the sleepy little alley, nestled at the corner of Baker Street.

* * *

This is not it, there is another chapter. I promise, I will never post only this much writing alone.

I do not think that sentence was grammatically correct. Hmm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, wassup. See, I told you it wasn't just that wimpy, not really a chapter bit. There is more! :D**

**Disclaimer: When you wish upon a star, makes no difference whatsoever. I still don't own.**

* * *

20 years later

John trudged up the steps to his dreary flat. He slammed the door shut and tossed his coat onto the nearest couch.

"Damn psychiatrist. She wants me to move on? Its only been a year for gods sake!"

John angrily stomped into the kitchen, boiling some water for tea. He walked back to the living room and flopped down on his chair. His cellphone rang. Getting up slowly, he answered it.

"What?"

"John, dear? Its Mrs Hudson. I was still wondering if you would like-

"I can't. I already told you. I'm sorry, I just can't move back into Baker."

John heard a sigh from the other side of the phone.

"I know, I figured that was what you were going to say. Still, I do want to see you. Its been too long!"

"I know, Mrs Hudson, and I promise I will visit soon. Things have just been so busy, what with the job and all."

"Ah, yes, and how is St. Bart's best surgeon?"

"Not exactly best, Mrs. Hudson. I'm still just the assistant surgeon."

"Well, it's still nice that you've got a good steady job, especially with todays economy, and-"

"Yeah, look, Mrs. Hudson, I've really got to go. I'm kinda busy now." John said, cutting off what he knew was going to a rather long talk. He glanced at the couch longingly.

"Of course, I understand. Well, I'll see you around, I suppose."

"Yeah, of course. Goodbye."

John hung up the phone and flopped back onto the couch. He felt a bit bad about lying to his old landlord, but he just couldn't talk to her. It reminded him too much of Sh-.

John shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He wouldn't go there. Not again. Sighing, he slowly sat up. Reaching for the coffee table, he grabbed the remote and switched on the tv. BBC News was on. He turned up the volume.

"There has been an addition to the list of missing people. The official count is now at 23, but some experts are speculating that those numbers may actually be quite higher. Just as before, the person disappeared from a seemingly normal place, at the corner of Laurel Ave. and Jameson St. Once again there was no eyewitness. And finally, same as the others, all the victim's clothing and possessions have been left behind.

John frowned a bit. He had first heard about those a bit ago. Before it had been 3, but now the newswomen was talking about numbers in the 20's. He was sure that he heard the story only a few days before, a week at most. How could so many people disappear that quickly?

John could feel the energy of a case begin to fill him, just like it had before. He stood quickly, then stopped, shaking his head again.

"No, no, I can't. I'm a doctor, not a detective. Even back then I was never able to keep up with- "

John froze. He wasn't going back there. He couldn't.

And yet he couldn't just forget about his former flatmate. That man had been by his side, he had run with him, and was John's friend. His only friend. And he had taught John so much, to see the world in a different way, in a better way. Dammit, John missed the running and the severed heads, and the random texts leading him god knows where in the middle of the night. He missed the skull on the mantlepiece and the smell of cigarettes, even the gunshots at the walls. He missed-

"I miss Sherlock Holmes."

For the first time in a year, he had said his, no, Sherlock's name. John, still standing, glanced back at the TV, still blaring the news. With a small smile, he grabbed the remote and turned it off, before spinning around and grabbing his coat. Throwing it on, he marched out the door and down the steps that led to the door.

"I may have just been his blogger, but I was still a damn good detective! Besides, it can't hurt to poke around just a bit, see what's going on, get a few details." And with that he stepped outside, yelling for a taxi. As one pulled up, he opened the door.

"Corner of Laurel Ave. and Jameson St. please, fast as you can." He slammed the door shut and the taxi drove off.

Across the street, a man in a black hoodie lifted his head, revealing messy black curls and piercing blue eyes that followed the cab as it sped away.

"Good, he's found his way. After all, I would be lost without my blogger."

Grinning, the man walked back down the alley behind him, disappearing into the darkness.

John paid the cab driver and stepped out, staring at the scene in front of him. The news hounds had already gotten there, and camera flashes kept going off everywhere. Quickly, John ducked off to the side before they saw him. Damn media. It was bad enough when he had first jumped and they had thought he was guilty, but now that people knew Sherlock was innocent, John never got any peace.

He pulled the cap he had on further down, so that it covered his face more, and pushed his way through the crowd. After getting jostled around a bit, John finally shoved his way to the front, seeing the crime scene for the first time. Not that there was actually much see. It was exactly as the anchorwoman had described it. Nothing but a pile of clothes, just sitting on the corner. John slipped under the police tape, glancing around to see if anyone had spotted him. Just as he thought he was safe-

"John! What the hell are you doing here?! And how did you get under the tape?"

John spun around to see Lestrade walking up to him, Anderson and Sally flanking him. They had smug looks on their faces, which were permanently plastered onto their faces whenever he was around. They didn't believe that Sherlock was innocent, despite the blatant proof. John was still on silent, nonresponsive terms with them. He had, however forgiven the Detective Inspector.

"Lestrade, I just wanted to see what was happening. I saw it on the telly, and I was curious."

"Look, John, you know I can't let you stay here, they'll fire me-"

"Come on, Greg! You owe me."

Lestrade froze, mouth open, about to respond. He closed it, sighing.

"Dammit John, how long are you going to keep playing that card. Very well, you can stay, but don't draw attention to yourself. Don't need the bloody media any more involved than they already are."

John smiled. "Thanks, Greg. I promise I won't be long, I just want a quick look."

"It better just be that, or else-" Lestrade was cut off by the sound of arguing. Turning around, he saw a ridiculous-looking man in a bowtie and a brown haired woman walking towards the crime scene, an officer running after them. Lestrade shook his head, walking towards the couple.

"What the hell is it now?"

The police officer, a rookie John guessed from the way he was shaking, turned and answered.

"Sir this couple won't go away. I've tried everything-"

"Yeah I'm sure you have." Lestrade said, cutting the man off. Turning to the odd pair, he asked, "And who are you, exactly?"

The man, who was wearing a large purple coat, a bowtie, and had ridiculous floppy brown hair, reached into his pocket. He pulled out what looked like wallet, flipping it open to show a...

John frowned. Blank piece of paper? Blinking he looked again, seeing a Scotland yard badge that read Detective Chief Inspector Smith. John shook his head, then glanced back at Lestrade, who nodded, accepting the authenticity of it.

"And who is she?" Lestrade asked, pointing to the girl with light brown hair.

"My partner, Detective Oswald. And you must be Lestrade, of course. Brilliant, I always loved Lestrade, always slightly more intelligent than that other man, what was his name? Andrew? Anthony?"

John bit his lip to hold back a smile. "Anderson?"

"Ahhh yes that's the one, Anderson. He was always a bit of an idiot. Never liked him. Sorry, I'm getting off track, I do that a lot, who are those two?" Smith asked, gesturing to Sally and Anderson.

Lestrade held back a smile. "This is Detective Anderson, and Sergeant Donovan"

Smith smiled sheepishly. "Oh. And him?" he asked, pointing at John.

"That's Doctor John Watson." Lestrade replied.

Smith stepped towards John a curious look on his face. "Really, him? This is the famed John Watson. Hmm... bit shorter than expected."

Clara elbowed him. "Doctor, you're being rude again." she muttered.

John, who had been glaring at Smith, turned to look at Clara.

_"Doctor? I thought he was a detective."_ he wondered.

"Am I? Sorry, that happens sometimes. Anyways, this is a crime scene, is it not. I would like to see what I can find!" Smith replied jovially, walking away towards the occurrence of the crime.

"Do-I mean, Smith! Wait up!" Clara replied, running after him.

Lestrade watched the strange couple run off, then sighed and began to walk away. Anderson, red in the face, followed him yelling, "You're just going to let him do what he wants!?"

"You saw his badge, he has security clearance."

"But he's a lunatic!"

"Maybe, but he's a lunatic who works for Scotland Yard."

John couldn't hear Anderson's reply, but he guessed it wasn't pleasant. Sally, who had remained with John, shook her head. "I better go before he hits Lestrade. " And with that she walked off.

John, being left alone, started slowly meandering away, still hiding his face from the media. He walked away from the crime scene, baffled and wondering why he had even bothered to come. It wasn't like he had even learned anything. As John walked towards the street, preparing to call a cab, he noticed Clara and Smith walking away from the crime scene. They turned a corner into an alley which John knew was a dead end. Still confused by the eccentric Detective Inspector,

and still not fully believing the pair were from Scotland Yard at all, John walked in the direction of the alley. As he got closer, he heard some sort of mechanical wheezing. Alarmed, he ran into the alley-

Only to find it empty.

He frowned. "I know they came this way, where could they have gone?"

"So you've seen them two. The disappearing couple as well. Interesting. Said a voice behind him. John turned, to see who had spoken-

And there he was, his dark curls covered in dirt, wearing an old hoodie, bruised and scratched.

Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
